


Pins and Needles If Only

by AmateurScribes



Series: Whumptober 2019 [29]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Broken Bones, Gen, Medical Trauma, Minor Character Death, Prompt Fic, Surgery, Whumptober 2019, numb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2021-01-08 02:18:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21228158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmateurScribes/pseuds/AmateurScribes
Summary: Of course, there were complications with the tank surgery, Grif would have to be an idiot to think otherwise.





	Pins and Needles If Only

**Author's Note:**

> I've become so numb to life that I have no issue posting this using my college's wifi. I pay _how_ much money to go here? They can suck my dick I don't care.
> 
> For the duration of this event, all mistakes are my own.

There were few things that reasonably a SIM needed to have, you know,  _ die in combat. _

One of them was just enough self-preservation to not be killed by either the opposing team or if they were unlucky enough to have to face off a Freelancer- which in the latter case meant that they were probably going to die anyhow, but maybe there'd be a small amount of time in between the other SIMs dying and the SIM that's in question.

The second was having even a modicum of intelligence- it didn't even have to be a lot, just enough that you could tell the difference between reality and the propaganda that was being fed to them.

And lastly, was the ability to move to get out of the way of whatever bullshit that the Freelancer Project would try to send your way.

The bar was very,  _ incredibly _ low. In fact, it was so low that people outside of the subprogram would  _ constantly _ get surprised at just how many SIMs qualified and how many died.

The Reds and Blues, somehow, had managed it acquire most of these skills. 

People like Grif had self-preservation- often misconstrued for cowardice, which it's definitely  _ not-  _ in spares. That was probably the only thing he had going for him in terms of instincts. Where Carolina could flip somewhere a micrometer too close to her, he had the ability to get the fuck out of a deadly situation. Which was a fair trade-off for Grif.

His intelligence could honestly be debated, especially if Simmons was there to argue. In Grif's opinion, he'd wager that he had more street smarts than academic smarts. Which was the more useful of the two, considering that he was a soldier- fake or no. What was Simmons gonna do? Beat the enemy in mathematical computations? Yeah, he didn't think so.

So that was two checks out of three that were practically important for his survival. And originally, he  _ had _ had all three done and done.

But that was before the tank incident.

Sure, Simmons may have given him his limbs and organs and skin. And sure, they may have solved the immediate problem of him dying from blood loss and nearly half of all his organs being squashed.

But it wasn't until much, much later after the surgery that he realizes that they really shouldn't have delegated the role of a surgeon to  _ Sarge _ of all people.

He couldn't feel anything from his left arm and leg. 

Nothing, nada, zip. Completely numb. And it wasn't like they were dead weights- he could lift them up and down, curl his fingers in and out, flex his foot. But only if he was directly looking at it, focusing all his attention on making the limbs move.

So they  _ worked, _ they were connected and all that jazz. He just couldn't feel them.

And through a series of tests- sticking his hand in freezing cold water, then fire, and feeling neither of the two sensations- he figured that it was a matter of touch.

Which you wouldn't think as being pretty essential for walking or moving after all the nerves in that regard still worked. But as it  _ turns out, _ when you couldn't feel your armor or clothes or the ground, it felt like you were walking on fucking nothing.

Were it anyone else, then maybe they would have struggled a lot more than Grif did with the issue, but he thankfully still remembered a few tricks when playing up on the high wire on the few times that his mother remembered he existed and brought him and Kai with her to the slightly more respectable workplace.

That didn't mean that he didn't occasionally drag his foot against the ground or stumble when walking or fumble with picking something up with Simmons' hand, but that wasn't so bad since he was right-handed.

Adapting to it is almost easily, he practically forgets about it half the time, and people don't question when he doesn't react to a punch to the arm since he's usually getting beat up on anyway. It's a miracle that he survived Sidewinder as it was, and the cold was the only reason that his mind supplied to him for the inability to grasp onto Simmons' hand properly.

He can move, just barely, and so he thinks that he has all three significant standards for Surviving as a SIM checked off.

But then they're thrown into a real war, and while they were SIMs at heart, now they were captains, and things weren't nearly as simple.

Those three check-boxes' were standard for  _ daily _ living. He'd need to be more if he'd want to survive as a soldier.

But they're Reds and Blues, what does it matter, they haven't lost before and while he's pretty sure they're going to die at every turn no matter what, he doesn't think this time is any different. 

And considering their skill sets, he'd say that it was a miracle that they even managed to survive this long  _ and _ help out the people of Chorus. While the fight wasn't quite over yet, the fact that they hadn't all died is pretty neat.

The original four teams hadn't been disbanded, much to Grif's surprise, part of him had thought that perhaps now that all of the Reds and Blues were together they would go back to being, well,  _ Reds and Blues. _

But Kimball had insisted that they maintain their positions as captains, even given them individual missions, despite the fact that only Tucker had done that when they were still in the middle of a civil war- and that had ended with his entire team dead. So, he doesn't know what it is exactly that changes her tune, but he doesn't know if it's a welcomed change or not- probably means that she trusts their abilities, or  _ something- _ he's still deciding on that.

It's been years that he's almost forgotten about his little  _ problem _ so to speak. It hasn't come up, and his balance has improved sufficiently enough after so long.

It doesn't come up until it does.

Somehow the space pirates had figured out just where Gold Team would be heading for their supply mission. And  _ somehow _ they had managed to place explosives in the right place to careen their Warthogs off the road, knocking most of his subordinates out, and leaving him very much awake.

Disorientated from the crash, he tries to push himself up from where he's only partially stuck under the side of the vehicle.

A par of boots land in front of his face, and he groans in annoyance, letting the pirate yank him roughly from out of under the Warthog.

The pirate held him roughly, dragging his injured body towards where they had assembled the rest of his men. Taking a quick headcount, he's relieved to see all of the soldiers that he had taken on this mission accounted for, injured without a doubt, but none dead.

"What do you think?" the pirate asked his companion. "Should we make an example out of the SIM?"

"Don't think about killing him, you know the mercenaries called dibs, like, fucking forever ago," the other pirate chastised.

"Ok, but did they say anything about  _ maiming _ them," he countered.

She took a moment to think, raising her finger as if she had a retort, but then lowered it with a shrug, "Not that I can recall, go ahead, but don't make it too deadly so that he dies on the way to the bosses."

Chuckling evilly- and could this asshole get even more corny, seriously, even Grif was a little embarrassed by his display of  _ 'oh look, I'm so evil'- _ the man jerked Grif's body in the direction of the other Gold Team soldiers, tossing him to his knees, one boot placed firmly against his back to keep his constrained.

Matthews whimpered at the sight, whispering out, "Captain-" before Bitters shushed him, trying to keep them inconspicuous, giving no reason for the pirates to turn their attention towards them. Good, check-off point number one.

The pirate wasn't talking to Grif's soldiers, but he did grab Grif's left arm tightly and Grif wondered for a moment what he was planning on doing- fear spiking in his mind- when the man increased the pressure and force holding him down whilst simultaneously pulling his arm back.

There's a loud  _ popping _ sound, and Grif can't really see what happened, but he's aware of the fact that the man most likely pulled his arm out of his socket.

But the thing is,  _ he can't feel it. _

This perplexes the pirate, and given the stifling quiet coming from his soldiers, Grif has a feeling that they're confused on why he's not screaming out in pain, or showing any form of a nonverbal sign of pain.

And for that second, Grif's very grateful that it was his left arm that the man decided for his target.

Turning his head in the pirate's direction, he fakes a yawn and asks, "So, are you going to do something, or...?"

"What- not possible," the pirate blurts out flabbergasted. "How-"

Increasing his hold on the same arm, he growls, "No matter, if that won't elicit a reaction that  _ this _ surely will."

Grif can feel the man's weight shift based on the twisting of the foot pressed against his back, and again he hears a loud  _ crack _ fill the silent area.

From the corner of his eyes, he can see the unnatural angle that his arm has been broken into.

He still can't feel it.

Grif can sense the man's shock, his partner's too, and he takes the chance to knock the other man off his feet, raising suddenly and causing him to collapse backward.

The female pirate isn't expecting his sudden escape at all, so it doesn't take much to dislodge the gun held in her hands to accommodate it for himself.

And while he would rather not kill someone so up close, check-off number one combined with two causes him to shoot her in the chest, her body collapsing to the ground, whirling on the still downed pirate and shooting him too.

That's the incentive for the other soldiers to get up from off the ground, rushing to his side now that there wasn't the threat of space pirates to gun them down.

Heading to his side immediately, his lieutenant, worries, "Holy shit, how can you not feel that right now?"

"Captain we need to get you medical assistance," Matthews fretted, voice high with hysteria.

"Probably," his head feels light, and he drops the gun in his hands. "Look, I can't even feel it, I'm fin-"

And promptly he passed out, waking up in the hospital days later.

The cause of his collapse was due to blood loss from a  _ head wound, _ but of course, no one thinks that.

He still can't feel anything from his left side, but maybe that was for the best. The element of surprise and all that.

**Author's Note:**

> I recycled an old concept/headcanon that I had from a long time ago, figured that now would be a good time to write it out!
> 
> If you'd like to contact me, you can find me at either of my Tumblr's: @agent-murica (main) and @amateurscribes (writing).


End file.
